The Xanthi's eyes glittered and a low murmur rose among them. Shorzon went on, rapidly: "It would be power over the world. Nothing could stand before that massed mental force. With us, skilled sorcerers, to direct, and the soldiers of Xanthi to compel obedience, we could lay a geas on whole nations without even having to be near them. We could span immeasurable gulfs of space and contact minds on those other worlds which philosophers think exist beyond the upper clouds. We could, by thus heightening our own mental powers, think out the very problems of existence, find the deepest secrets of nature, forces beside which your devil-powder would be a spark. Drawing life-energy from other bodies, we would never grow old, we would live forever. "Tsathu--lords of Xanthi--I offer you a chance to become gods!" * * * * * The stillness was broken only by the muttering and whispering of the Xanthi among themselves. Mist drifted through the raw wet night of the hall. The walls seemed to waver, shift and blur like smoke. "Why could we not do this in our own nation?" asked Tsathu. "Because, as you yourself said, the Xanthi do not have the latent mental powers of humans--save for you few who are the masters. It must be mankind who is controlled, with the commoners of your race as overseers." "And why could we not kill you and do this ourselves?" "Because you do not understand humans. The differences are too great. You could never control human thoughts as Chryseis or I could." Another Xanthian spoke: "But do you realize what this will do to the human race? Your Achaerans will become mindless machines under such control. Drained of life-energy, they will age and die like animals. I doubt that any will live ten seasons." "What of that?" shrugged Chryseis. "There are other nations nearby to draw on--Conahur, Norriki, Khemri, ultimately the world. We will have centuries, remember--we will never die!" "And you do not care for your own race at all?" "It will no longer be our race," said Shorzon. "We will be gods, thinking and living and wielding such powers as they--as we ourselves right now--could never dream. Why, do what you will with our men here, to start. What does it matter?" "But do not harm the yellow-haired man from Conahur," said Chryseis sharply. "He's mine--forever." Tsathu sat thinking, like the statue of a Khemrian beast-god cast in shining gold. Slowly, at last, he nodded, and an eerie sigh ran down the long table as the lords of the Xanthi hissed agreement. "It will be done," said Tsathu. Corun stumbled back down the tunnel, reckless of discovery, blind and deaf with madness that roared in his skull. Chryseis--Chryseis--Chryseis--